


Made To Be Broken

by cookiegirl



Category: White Collar
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:33:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22080706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiegirl/pseuds/cookiegirl
Summary: Neal's plan for his first New Year's Eve on the anklet doesn't quite work out.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke & Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	Made To Be Broken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChokolatteJedi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChokolatteJedi/gifts).

> Written for in_a_peartree. Happy New Year!

Neal had _planned_ to spend New Year's Eve with Mozzie, at a party being held at one of the newest art galleries in Chelsea. He'd charmed his way into an invitation a month ago, and had been looking forward to an evening of beautiful artwork, stimulating conversation, champagne and caviar.

Instead, it was five minutes before midnight and he was lying on the Burkes' couch, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt and watching Peter eat a slice of pizza straight out the box. 

"I think it's time for more painkillers," Neal said, scowling at his throbbing ankle. This was all the fault of the money launderer they'd tracked down. For some foolish reason the man had decided to run from the FBI, and had shoved Neal over when Neal had stepped into his path to stop him. A fall and a sprained ankle were what Neal had gotten for being heroic (and, to make matters worse, Peter hadn't used the word 'heroic' once, despite Neal's heavy prompting).

"No more tablets until five after twelve," Peter said. "I set an alarm." 

Neal huffed, and Peter gave him a surprisingly sympathetic look. "It hurts that much?" Peter asked.

"It might hurt less if you gave me the last slice of pizza," Neal said, and raised his eyebrows when Peter passed the box over. "Really? I can have it?"

"Sure. You did help us take down the suspect, after all. Even if you did it by falling on your ass."

"_Heroically_ falling on my ass, wouldn't you say?" Neal said, biting into the pie.

"Well, Jones was the one who finally arrested him, so he should get the credit," Peter pointed out, and Neal rolled his eyes. He'd done all the hard work of slowing him down, Jones had just grabbed him and put the cuffs on.

"Oh, I don't know," came El's voice as she entered the room from the kitchen, carrying three glasses of champagne. "It sounds like Neal was an integral part of the operation to me." She winked at him and handed over a champagne flute.

"Thank you, Elizabeth," Neal said, looking at Peter pointedly. 

Peter laughed. "Fine, fine, Neal, you were a hero. Now be quiet and watch the ball drop." He flicked up the volume on the television so that they could hear the goings-on in Times Square. Meanwhile, El settled herself on the opposite couch, next to Peter, and Satchmo jumped up by Neal's legs, narrowly avoiding his hurt ankle. Satch put his head on Neal's thigh and Neal reached down and scratched his head.

On the television screen, the seconds started counting down from sixty. The crowd were cheering, and Neal expected to feel another pang of sadness that he wasn't out partying somewhere, either at the gallery or in Times Square. But instead he felt the warm, heavy weight of Satchmo against his leg, and glanced across at Peter and El casually curled up near him, and he realized he didn't actually mind staying in.

The countdown reached zero, and Peter leaned over and clinked his champagne glass against Neal's.

"Happy New Year, hero," Peter said, and Neal grinned. This year was going to be a good one, even if he was starting it with a sore ankle.


End file.
